Rocket Blues

by David Skuy

  “Great work. Good energy,” Barker said. “Thanks for coming out. I hope you appreciate a real, top-level tryout and get a feel for what it takes to play with the best. The Oakmont Huskies might be too much of a jump for some of you, but I admire your guts for coming anyway. Hope you had fun. As the saying goes, many are called, few are chosen. That’s a life lesson, boys. We can only carry fifteen skaters, with two goalies. Good luck with any other tryouts and, hopefully, I’ll run into you again.” He paused. “So, guys, that was awesome. Now, let’s go for a skate three times around the rink to end it off. Go for it — I’ll be watching.” He blasted his whistle.

  The boys took off. The players who’d been on the Huskies last year lazed along, including Ty and Adam. Rocket skated up beside them.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go for a skate.”

  “Too pathetic,” Adam said. “No point busting our butts for nothing. Look at them. Don’t they get it?”

  The other guys were skating their hearts out, and soon a few had even lapped them.

  Barker was off the ice by now, speaking to the team manager, Rob Thompson, and the sponsor, Mr. Cole. The sponsor’s son Sean played on the team. Adam called him Money, on account of his rich dad.

  Money wasn’t Rocket’s favourite guy: he was always bragging about the awesome trips he was going on or the new, expensive things his dad had bought him. Rocket knew some rich kids at Forest Mills, but they were nothing compared to Money’s dad, apparently. He was some kind of lawyer.

  At least Money could play. Rob’s son, Mitchell, was totally useless. He barely got any ice time, but he was still on the team.

  Another pack of guys lapped them. Rocket couldn’t stand it.

  “Let’s show them how Huskies skate,” Rocket said. “We look like house leaguers.”

  “I can’t be seen sweating at a tryout,” Adam cracked.

  “Go for it, Rocket,” Ty said. “We’ll clap for you.”

  Rocket snickered. “If you can’t keep up, I understand.” He took off.

  Ty took off after him.

  The two boys motored around the ice, weaving in and out of the other players. Rocket carved sharply on his inside edges, the blades scraping over the ice as he swung around the net. A few short, powerful strides and he was back at top speed. Ty still hadn’t caught him — and he wasn’t going to. He wasn’t called the Rocket for nothing. He swerved to the middle of the ice to avoid a pack of players, and with arms and legs pumping faster and faster, he felt like he was practically flying.

  He wished the tryout was just beginning.

  A whistle blew. “That’s it, boys. Clear off. Zamboni’s coming on.” Rob waved at them from the door. Rocket figured he could sneak in another lap, and with no one in his way, he went even faster. Ty and Adam were still on the ice talking to Rob when he rounded the last corner. He skidded to a stop a metre away, spraying them with ice chips.

  “Sorry, Ty. Thought you were a pylon,” Rocket said.

  Ty rubbed the top of Rocket’s helmet. “How cute. The little boy wants to play.”

  Rocket knew Ty wasn’t serious. It still bothered him, though.

  “Must’ve been hard to watch someone’s back in a race,” Rocket said.

  “I got no problem losing to you,” Ty said, tapping his shin pads. “So did you see anyone you liked?”

  They stepped off the ice and headed to the dressing room. Rocket felt dumb getting mad at Ty for making a stupid joke. They were best friends!

  “Hard to tell with so many guys,” Rocket said. “There was that left-winger in the blue helmet and the red pants. He looked like a player.”

  Ty shrugged. “Bit small, especially for a winger. I bet that huge defenceman will make it. He could clear the front of the net with his pinky finger.”

  Rocket flushed as he opened the door to the dressing room. Hockey was about heart and skill, not stupid muscle.

  “Awesome skate, Tyler,” Barker called out. “Great sniping, Ad-man.”

  The dressing room door closed behind them.

  CHAPTER 3

  The players from last season had basically taken over one of the dressing rooms. It was like last season hadn’t ended. Craig was kneeling in the middle of the room undoing his goalie pads. Bennett and Jerrett were having their usual burping competition, which was way better than what they sometimes did. Joshua was trying to balance a shin pad on his head, and Money was yapping away — this time about Barker.

  “He played in the East Coast League,” Money was saying. “And I think he played in Europe, too, in Italy, or something like that. Dude is going to be awesome. Dad says Neilson was too soft. Barker’s going to make this team a legend. We’re probably going to Europe for a tourney, because he knows guys over there. We’re adding another practice each week and land training — he says we aren’t in shape.”

  A quiet murmur spread through the room.

  “That’ll be awesome,” Adam said to Rocket and Ty. “We’ll take over Europe.”

  Rocket wasn’t so sure. “Sounds crazy expensive. We did like six or seven tournaments last year. Isn’t that enough?” His knew his mom couldn’t afford any more.

  “Money’s dad will pay,” Adam scoffed. “He’s worth millions. It’s world domination time, bros. I’m totally pumped about minor bantam.”

  “Yeah, sure. It’ll be fun, but—”

  Adam cut Rocket off. “My dad said junior teams will be scouting us; even college teams begin to notice you. We have the same season as last year and it’ll be the big time.”

  “Bring it,” Ty said.

  “Bring it,” Rocket said with energy. He meant it, too. Coach Neilson had pulled him aside after they’d won the championship and told him he was a special player, a kid who had a chance to make it if he worked hard and dedicated himself. Bryan Rockwood wasn’t afraid of hard work: hours spent shooting tennis balls against the garbage bin behind his apartment, shinny on Ty’s backyard rink in the winter, floor hockey at school, hockey camps every summer, the three-on-three league. His entire life was hockey — just the way he liked it.

  The door swung open and Rob came in.

  “Hi, Uncle Robby,” the boys chorused — another one of Adam’s nicknames.

  Usually, Rob laughed at that. Now he looked deadly serious. Rocket stuffed his hockey pants into his bag. Rob held up his clipboard.

  “Okay, boys. Listen up. I’m going to read off some names. If I call your name, please stay in this room. If I don’t call your name, please go to dressing room one or two. Okay?” Rob looked around.

  His face was pale. Rocket wondered if he was sick.

  The room quieted down. Rocket’s chest tightened. No matter what, he always felt nervous when cuts were made. He felt bad for the guys who didn’t make it.

  “Bennett, Michael, Sean, Joshua …”

  Rocket wiped his skate blades.

  “Adam, Tyler, Craig, Mitchell …”

  Rocket put his skates in his bag.

  “Harrison, Christopher, Jerrett …”

  Jerrett was the assistant coach’s son. Better than Mitchell, but not by much. Rocket tried to catch Ty’s eye, but he wasn’t looking his way.

  “Nicholas, Ryan, Simon and Brett.”

  Rob lowered his clipboard. “That’s it. If I didn’t call your name, you can haul your stuff outside when you’re done dressing. You can give it to your parents or take it into room one or two.” He nodded several times, his eyes wide.

  No one said a word. Rocket thought his chest was going to burst open. He gathered his courage. “You didn’t call me,” he said finally.

  Rob tapped his clipboard with a pen. “Coach Barker will talk to you in one of the other dressing rooms and explain how things will work this year. Okay? So hustle it up if I didn’t call you, and … yeah … That’s it. Just hustle it up ’cause a couple of other boys need to come in here.” He left.

  Rocket zipped his bag shut. Adam was rubbing his skate blades over and over with a towel.

&nbs
p; “Probably no big deal,” Ty whispered. “I bet Barker is going to ask you to switch positions or lines or something.”

  “Our line led the league in scoring last season,” Rocket whispered back. “Why would he mess that up?”

  Ty shook his head and shrugged. Adam was still drying his skates. Without knowing what else to do, Rocket got up, grabbed his sticks and pulled his bag to the door as it swung open. It was the huge defenceman who’d decked him.

  “S’cuse me, broski,” the defenceman said.

  He held the door open and Rocket had no choice but to walk under his arm to get out. Another kid pushed past Rocket on his way in.

  “After you,” Rocket said. The kid ignored him. Inside, the guys began talking at once. The door closed before he heard what they were saying.

  A bunch of parents had gathered outside the door. Money’s dad had his arm around Barker’s shoulders and they were both laughing. Rocket dragged his bag into dressing room two.

  Everyone there had changed into their clothes. Most had their feet on their bags and were leaning against the wall. With nowhere to sit, Rocket pushed his bag to the side and tried to look chill. He had a feeling he wasn’t doing a good job of it. His insides were churning, and he felt sick to his stomach. He’d centred Ty and Adam for three years; he’d always been a centre. He didn’t want to have to learn a new position. He shot left, so was Barker going to move Adam to centre? That made no sense. If anything, Ty would be the better centre — more of an all-around player.

  A few of the boys were outright staring at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the winger with the blue helmet and red pants.

  Barker barged in. “Listen up, boys,” he said, banging a clipboard on his thigh. “I always do this myself. I think it’s the right thing to do. I’m a straight shooter, always have been. So here’s the deal. We won’t be able to offer you guys a spot this year on the Huskies. Sorry. Like I said on the ice, and as most of you know, the Huskies are the best AAA team in the league. No shame in not making it. None. Good luck with your other tryouts — and thanks again.” He turned and reached for the door.

  Rocket raced over.

  “Coach?” Rocket said. He hated that his voice shook.

  Barker’s eyes narrowed. “I have to speak to my team. Thanks for coming.”

  He pushed the door open and went out.

  Rocket followed. He heard a few guys laugh — probably at him — but he didn’t care. What was happening?

  He tugged on Barker’s jacket before he went into the Huskies dressing room.

  “I’m Bryan Rockwood — Rocket, at least the guys call me that. It’s not my real name.” His throat had gone completely dry, he was so nervous. “Anyway, I was on the team last year — the last three years.”

  Barker put his hand on Rocket’s shoulder. “There was a lot of talent on the ice and I had to make some tough decisions. That’s hockey. Good luck to you.” He turned away and Rocket reached out again.

  “But I was leading scorer last year. I was centre on a line with Ty and Ad-man … I mean, Tyler and Adam. I’ve always played with them — centre, I mean.” His voice broke. He was on the edge of losing it. “All my friends …”

  Barker bit his lower lip and he rubbed his hands together. “I’m a straight shooter, like I said. Ask anyone. I’m honest as the day is long and I’m going to be honest with you. No point beating around the bush. Sure you can play. Yeah, you got good wheels, and maybe even a little jam. Only there’s something you don’t got — and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He held his hand over Rocket’s head. “Size. You’re too small. My teams play tough and physical. I need big bodies that can cycle and crash the net, not fancy skaters that play outside. You’ve had a few years at AAA, and on the Huskies to boot. Lots of good memories. But that’s over. Trust me, I’m doing you a favour. Before you get your head taken off, go down to AA, or even A. Have some fun; don’t take hockey so seriously. It’s too physical at this level for someone your size. Sorry to be the guy to tell you; that’s just me. I don’t like to lead kids on. You’ll thank me one day for telling you the truth. Trust me. It just isn’t going to happen for you.”

  Barker pushed the door open.

  Rocket remained frozen.

  Cut!

  The perfect word.

  That’s how he felt, like someone had cut his heart out. After everything, all the practices, the working out, the championship, the trophies, it was all over — after one stupid tryout. Just like that.

  Fifteen minutes ago he was the Rocket, AAA hockey player.

  Now who was he?

  A cheer sounded from inside the dressing room.

  CHAPTER 4

  Ty’s father, Greg, reached for Rocket’s hockey bag. “Give it here, Bryan. I’ll toss it in the trunk.”

  “I can do it,” Rocket said. He heaved his bag beside Ty’s.

  Adam’s father came over. “Greg, looks like an awesome crew!” he said.

  “Hey, Rod. Yeah, I guess. I’m dropping Bryan off first, so … we can talk later,” Greg said.

  Rod’s grin became strained. “I didn’t see you there, Rocket. Sorry, buddy. Tough break, real tough. Game is getting rougher, though. Boys are growing; they start hitting for real now. Probably for the best, right? No sense getting hammered on the ice by a kid twice your size.”

  Rocket stared at the trunk, his hands stuffed in his jacket.

  Rod began to laugh. “At least your jacket will last for a few years. The way Adam’s going he’ll be out of it by the summer.”

  Greg slammed the trunk shut. “We really have to go … so … Take care.”

  “See you, Ad-man,” Ty said.

  Adam flicked his head. “Catch ya later, bros. Bring it!”

  Rocket pulled on the door handle, but the angle was bad and the latch caught.

  “Here, I’ll do it,” Ty said.

  “I can open a stupid door,” Rocket said. He pulled harder and the door flew open and slammed against the stopper. Just before he climbed in, he saw Greg whisper something to Rod, who nodded back. Ty followed him in, and soon Greg got behind the wheel and began to reverse out of the parking spot.

  “I’ll try to speak to Coach Barker,” Greg said over his shoulder. “Not sure he’s the listening type, unfortunately. For the record, I think it was a bad decision, Bryan. Terrible. I’d have you on the team if it was up to me.”

  Rocket knew he should say thank you. The words just wouldn’t come out.

  “Maybe if your mom called Rob or Money’s dad?” Ty said.

  “Doubt it. She doesn’t know them. Besides, Barker hates me; he won’t change his mind,” Rocket said.

  “There will be lots of teams dying to have you,” Greg said. “I’ll make some calls when I get home, okay? Let me see what’s available. I know most of the coaches. The only problem is a lot of the better clubs will have their rosters full already, but you never know. How does that sound?”

  He wasn’t actually sure. “Depends where they practise,” he said. “I’d need a new carpool, since we still don’t have a car …” His voice trailed off.

  “You’re a skilled player,” Greg said. “Sure, you’re on the small side, but look at the NHL. Lots of small guys make it. Who’s the guy … you know … won a scoring title, has a French-sounding name? C’mon. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Who was it?”

  “Martin St. Louis?” Rocket offered.

  “That’s it. St. Louis. Maybe he’s an exception, but still … Anyway, why are we talking about the NHL? You’re playing for fun, so what’s the big deal? We’ll miss you on the team, though, and I know Ty and Adam are disappointed. Right, Ty?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But you’ll find another team and have fun, too. Right?” Greg said.

  Rocket wanted to jump out the window. He didn’t eat right and train and practise for hours because hockey was just for fun. No one took him seriously because they thought he was too puny. And if one more person mentioned Martin St
. Louis — or Theo Fleury — he was going to kill them!

  Greg continued in a strained voice. “You boys play so much hockey; it might be good to think of other things, too. When one door closes another opens up, as they say. I’ve been after Ty to expand his interests, try new things. There’s more to life than rinks and slapshots.”

  “Here comes the lecture about being a well-rounded kid,” Ty said.

  Greg laughed good-naturedly. “I didn’t have your talent when I was a kid, so I know it’s different for you boys. I was a total hack. I get that you love playing because you’re so good at it. Still … and be honest, Bryan, don’t you ever get bored with hockey?” Greg said.

  Rocket wanted to yell “No!”

  Instead, he shrugged and said, “Maybe.”

  “So what else do you do besides hockey?” Greg said.

  “Lots of stuff, I guess.” That wasn’t really true. Other than TV, the computer and school, hockey was about it. That’s who he was — a hockey player. Everyone at school knew him for hockey, plus all of his friends and family — even Grady.

  “Great,” Greg said. “Maybe this is an opportunity to make hockey part of your life instead of your entire life. I’m even jealous a bit. This Barker’s got us playing all over the place. Ty, did you hear about the Europe tour?”

  “Money told us about it,” Ty said.

  “This team sure digs into my pocketbook,” Greg chuckled. “Every time there’s a fundraiser it costs me about five hundred bucks! It’ll be a great experience, of course. The boys must’ve gone nuts when Coach Barker announced it.”

  “We’re pumped,” Ty said.

  Rocket felt sick. No Europe for him. He was headed to Loserville.

  Greg’s phone rang and he stuck a Bluetooth receiver in his ear.

  “Hey, Rod … Yup, the talent level is high, through the roof, for sure … Size is definitely …” He paused. “Yep, we can ramp up the physical game.”

  Rocket tried to tune out the conversation. He couldn’t think of anything to say to Ty, though, which was weird because their teachers were always telling them to be quiet. Ty had mentioned hanging out after the tryout, but all Rocket wanted to do was go home. Ty didn’t bring it up either. He was quiet, too.